


Cadence

by ImpishTubist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: Harry tries to contact Sirius with the two-way mirror after returning from the Department of Mysteries, but it’s Lupin who answers.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	Cadence

**Author's Note:**

> A slight AU of the scene by the lake after Sirius’s death in OotP. Unbeta’d, not Brit-picked. I refuse to read the last half OotP ever again, so all of these canon details are coming from a 17-year-old memory of reading the book for the first time. If I got anything wrong, I’m sorry, but I’m also not going to change it, lol. This isn't explicitly Sirius/Remus, but just know that there's no universe I write where those two aren't together. 
> 
> I don’t support JKR, her transphobic comments, or really anything she has to say about the HP series. It is my immense pleasure to take her characters and rub my queer little hands all over them.
> 
> _Cadence: a melodic or harmonic configuration that creates a sense of resolution._

Harry sits by the edge of the lake, cold pre-dawn dew soaking through his jeans. He tries not to think about--well, _anything,_ really, but especially not about the old memory he has of Sirius’s lifeless body lying on the opposite bank, Dementors swarming above him. That had only been two years ago, he realizes dully. Two years ago, he’d been offered a shred of hope: he had a _godfather_. Someone who could and _would_ take him in, if only he could clear his name. That hope is gone now, and it’s all Harry’s fault. _He_ killed Sirius. 

The two-way mirror is in his pocket. He’s been carrying it around ever since he discovered it in his trunk. He doesn’t know why. Because he thinks that someday, Sirius might respond? Might call out to him from wherever he’s ended up? The possibility is unlikely, but it’s the only thing Harry has left. A thin thread of hope. 

He also tries not to think about Nearly Headless Nick’s words, and of course they come to him unbidden anyway. Sirius is gone. He’s dead, and Harry will never see him again because Sirius will never be a ghost. He was ready to move on. There was nothing keeping him here. _Harry_ wasn’t enough to keep him here. And Harry’s always known that, has always known that he’s not _enough_ , that he’s not worth loving, that he’s not worth sticking around for, but it still _hurts_. 

Harry digs the mirror out of his pocket, turns it over in his hands. 

“Sirius,” he whispers, even though he knows it will do no good. And then, louder: “Sirius Black!” 

A light flashes across the mirror, and Harry nearly drops it in shock. Heart in his throat, hands trembling, he holds up the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of--

A face appears, but it’s not Sirius. Even as disappointment sinks like a stone in his gut, Harry says, “Professor Lupin?” 

“Harry.” Lupin looks about as rattled as Harry feels. “Merlin, you gave me a fright. I didn’t--what _is_ this thing?”

“Sirius said it’s a two-way mirror,” Harry manages. “He and my dad used to use them in detention. I found it. In my trunk. He’d given it to me and I--I forgot about it.”

“I see.” Lupin looks gaunt and ill--worse even, Harry thinks, than the first time he saw him on the Hogwarts Express. “Harry, were you...were you trying to call Sirius?”

“I know it’s stupid,” Harry says in a rush. “I know, I know he’s--gone. But I thought, it’s just a veil. We don’t know what’s beyond it. Maybe he’s still out there. Maybe we can find him. Maybe--maybe I can talk to him.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Lupin whispers, and Harry closes his eyes against the threatening tears. He clears his throat, and then says, “Well, I’m sorry to say that he didn’t have the other half of the mirror on him when he...fell. It’s here in his bedroom.” 

There’s a moment of terrible silence, and then Lupin says, “Harry, where are you?”

“At the lake,” Harry mutters. He swipes his sleeve across his cheeks and hopes that Lupin doesn’t notice. 

“Harry,” Lupin says again, softly. “You should go back to bed. You need to sleep.” 

He can’t go back to bed, because Sirius haunts his dreams like Cedric used to. He can’t sleep, because all he dreams about is what he’ll now never have. “Yeah.” 

Lupin sighs. “Look, Harry, I’ve got to go. But we’ll talk soon, yeah? I’ll check in with you. I promise.” 

Harry doesn’t even bother saying goodbye, just tucks the mirror back in his pocket and buries his face in his knees. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. He’s already cold and soaked through, so becoming even more cold and soaked through means nothing to him. He isn’t aware of the approaching footsteps until they’re almost upon him, and he only lifts his head when someone sits down beside him.

“Hello, Harry,” Professor Lupin says. “I had a feeling you’d still be out here.” 

“How did you get here?”

“Apparated to Hogsmeade and then walked over,” Lupin says. He has a cloak with him, which he drapes over Harry’s shoulders before Harry can protest. He then rests a hand on Harry’s back, a point of warmth in the middle of his spine. He rubs his thumb back and forth along Harry’s vertebrae. 

“Why?” 

“Because Sirius would never forgive me if I left his godson alone and distraught by the side of a lake in the middle of the night,” Lupin says gently. He draws a breath. “Harry, I never got a chance to say--with everything that was happening the other night--”

“ _Don’t._ ” 

“I’m sorry about Sirius.” 

Harry pulls away from his touch. “I said _don’t_.” 

Lupin withdraws his hand. 

“He’s not dead,” Harry says firmly, and it feels _good_ to say that out loud. “He isn’t. I _know_ he isn’t.” 

“What makes you say that?” Lupin asks softly. 

“Because he’s not _here_ ,” Harry says. “He’s not a ghost. Nearly Headless Nick says that ghosts of witches and wizards will linger here if they have unfinished business, and he’s _not_ here, so he can’t be dead. Unless,” a thought occurs to Harry “he’s not at Grimmauld Place, is he?”

“No,” Lupin says after a moment. “He’s not at Grimmauld Place.” 

“Then he could be--”

“Harry,” Lupin interrupts gently, so gently that Harry grits his teeth and balls his hands into fists. “Harry, Sirius is dead. I need--I need you to understand that.” 

“ _Why?_ ” 

“Oh, Harry.” Lupin pushes his hands through his hair, then rubs his face. “Have you ever seen your parents’ ghosts before?”

“No,” Harry says, frowning. “What does that--”

“Don’t you think you count as _unfinished business_ , for them?” Lupin asks. “Don’t you think that, if ghosts worked the way Nick says that they do, your parents would be here? Your parents would be here, and Sirius, and all the people we lost in the first war, and everyone who has ever died before they felt they were ready? The world would be overrun with ghosts, Harry.” 

“Then--then Sirius--” 

“If there’s an afterlife at all,” Lupin says, “then Sirius is beating his fists bloody trying to get back to us, and he _can’t_ , and I’m _so sorry_.” 

Misery clogs his throat. “I just want to see him. Talk to him. We didn’t have enough _time_.” 

“I know.” 

“Did he love me?” 

Lupin looks at him, eyes overbright. “Oh, yes. Desperately. Harry, you were all he ever talked about.” 

“And did-did he know that I loved him?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I forgot about the mirror,” Harry says in a rush. “He gave it to me at Christmas, but I only just remembered it tonight. His note--his note said to call him anytime. But I _didn’t_. Did I--did I hurt him? Was he upset?”

“Harry, no,” Lupin says. “It’s okay, I promise. Sirius understood.” 

“But you don’t _know_ \--” 

“I know that he said some terrible things to you this past year,” Lupin says softly. “I know that he hated being stuck in that house, he hated that he lost fourteen years of his life, and sometimes he took it out on you. Scolding you for not being like James? That was cruel, Harry, and wrong of him. He was hurting, yes, but it _wasn’t_ because of you. You did nothing wrong. He loved you.” 

Harry tries not to think about that particular Floo call too often; the misery of it still burns hot in his gut. The _shame_. He had desperately wanted to see Sirius, but he never would have been able to live with himself if Sirius had been caught because of him. 

Sometimes he wishes he _had_ been expelled at the beginning of the year, that he had been cast out of Hogwarts so he could live at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. It wouldn’t have been so bad--he would finally have been living with his godfather, as he should have been for the past fourteen years. It would have made Sirius happy, too, to have company in that lonely house. And Harry wouldn’t have recklessly rushed off to the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive, and--

He draws in a shuddering breath. Tears are hot on his face, rolling down his cheeks to drip off his chin, but he cries silently. He doesn’t even think Lupin’s noticed, until a handkerchief appears out of nowhere and is pressed into his hands. Lupin then clasps his knee tightly before withdrawing.

“Are you staying there, then?” Harry asks hollowly. He presses the handkerchief to his face. “Grimmauld Place.” 

“For the time being. I should have asked your permission, and I’m sorry about that, but it seemed like the least of your worries at the moment.”

Harry turns to look at him quizzically. “My permission? Why?”

Lupin’s face falls. “No one told you. Of course they didn’t. It’s yours now, Harry. You’re Sirius’s heir. All of his assets pass to you, including that house.” 

“Oh,” Harry says softly. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. And then he says fiercely, “I don’t want it. I don’t want _any_ of it. I just want him back!” 

“So do I,” Lupin whispers, and Harry is at once struck by how much _he’s_ lost, too. His closest friends are gone now, one of them almost as soon as Lupin got him back. Harry tries to picture what it would be like to lose Ron and Hermione, to have to go on despite it, and can’t. “I suppose Dumbledore is sending you back to your relatives’ house this summer?”

“I have to go,” Harry says morosely. Living with the Dursleys had been bearable for the past two summers, because he knew Sirius was out there. Someone was out there who cared about _him_ , Harry; someone who would have taken Harry in a heartbeat if he could. That had been a balm for all the pain inflicted by the Dursleys, and now it was gone. 

“I’d have taken you, if I could,” Lupin says suddenly. He half-turns to glance at Harry before looking back out at the lake. “I hope you know that.” 

Harry hadn’t, but he says, “Yeah,” anyway.

“I’d take you now, if I could, but…” Lupin trails off. “Dumbledore’s got me doing some work with the werewolf packs. I have a few days after term ends before I’m supposed to head out again. I could probably arrange for you to come to Grimmauld for a few days, if you’d like? Go through Sirius’s things with me. See if there’s anything you want to have.”

“Really?” Harry has so little from Sirius, and even a few days away from the Dursleys would be better than nothing. “Yes, _please_. I want that.” 

Lupin nods. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

They’re bathed now in the weak light of dawn. Lupin’s face is as grey as his hair. He looks like a specter. Harry wonders how close they are to the full moon. He wonders how Lupin will tolerate the next one, now that the last of his pack is gone. 

“He cried when you were born, you know,” Lupin says abruptly. 

“Sirius did?” 

Lupin nods. “He was the first one to hold you, after your parents. I don’t know who cried harder, you or him.” 

He smiles a bit at that, lost in the memory. Harry tries to picture it--Sirius as a young man cradling his baby self. He can’t quite manage it, and it feels like another loss.

“What else?” he asks.

“Well…” Lupin trails off, thinking. “He bought you your first broomstick. He and James spent hours with you in the garden, teaching you to fly.”

“Was I any good?” 

Lupin laughs. “A natural, according to Sirius. Let’s see...he called you Haz, sometimes, or Prongslet, or sprog. Your first bit of accidental magic happened when he was holding you. James was going to take you from Sirius to put you down for a nap, and you accidentally cast a shielding charm to keep him away. You didn’t want to let Sirius go.” 

Harry bows his head. His cheek brushes Lupin’s shoulder. Lupin shifts slightly, and Harry takes the unspoken invitation to rest his head there. He closes his eyes. 

“Tell me more,” he says quietly.

And so they sit there, talking, until long after the sun has spilled over the horizon and burned away the dew.


End file.
